Ann Huchingson

Ann Huchingson has recently been delving back into short fiction. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing and was once employed as the head writer of a kitschy prime time soap opera. She hopes to stop volunteering and start writing again!

Stories by Ann Huchingson

“I don’t sleep much,” I tell him, dangling my insomnia in front of him like a ripe pomegranate, its many compartments mysterious and ruby. Sleeplessness implies action in the dark of night, implies rumpled sheets and tangled limbs. He lifts his eyebrow and his glass to his lips in one motion, as though they are connected …

It was a frog in his throat, Scout had tried to explain, that kept him from saying, “I love you.” A frog that kept him from pouring his heart out to her. It just lived in there, crammed between his uvula and his larynx, shutting off all communication that might further their relationship. He had burnt …

Mama never came back to finish her coffee. It just sat there on the counter, the cup all fogged up and warm. Half full. Like it was waiting for someone to come on back and finish it up. It was the cup with the red and yellow daisies on it — the one with the …